We all have to eat. I watch you lap it up. The degradation is spectacular.

There’s something almost provocative (but not quite) in this compression of reality. The horror of it all remains contained. The truth, so to speak, is pressed up against one side of a transparent screen, muzzled and out of breath.

We can pretend we’re not the same — that we find one another absurd.

What choice is there?
Can you exist without pretending?

Was there ever a good old days?

I watch you now and wonder who you really are. I wonder if you’ll lose it, what that would look like and how I’d see it. Imagine an outtake like that.